


Love Knows Not What Time Is

by purewanderlust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Schmoop, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's been three days.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Knows Not What Time Is

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by an anon over on my Tumblr: "Season one. Sam feels guilty because of his feelings for Dean combined with Jess's death. Wincest, and smut because you never write it." So, yeah. Kind of mortified right now because seriously I never write above a PG-13 rating. It's way tamer than a lot of stuff I've seen, but go easy on me. '~' Also, it gets unbearable schmoopy at the end, because our boys have gone through enough on the show.

It's been three days. Three days since Sam watched his girlfriend burn to death on the ceiling of their shared apartment. Three days since Dean half-dragged, half-carried him out of the burning building. Three days since he had let Palo Alto and his dreams of law school vanish in the Impala's rearview mirror.

All Sam had left was the harsh realization that it had all been for nothing. He was right back where he'd been at fifteen years old: fucked up and angry, with nothing to his name but a duffle full of dirty clothes and the passenger seat of a vintage Chevy.

And Dean kept _staring_ at him, in turns delighted and guilty for being delighted, with such frequency that it made Sam's skin itch. When he jerked awake from a nightmare, Dean would be watching with a look that suggested he was waiting for Sam to lose it completely. Every time he'd come back to whatever motel room they were staying in that night, after going to get coffee or food, Dean would look at him with an expression that said _I can't believe you came back._

He was driving Sam crazy and the worst part was, he seemed to be completely oblivious to it, in the same way he'd somehow missed Sam falling into inappropriate, incestous love with him somewhere around the ninth grade.

So Dean stared and Sam itched under his gaze, but neither one said anything because they were Winchesters, born and bred to say they were fine, even if their guts were spilling out onto the pavement. Which, Sam knew from experience, hurt like a _motherfucker,_ so he was really in no place to complain, since his organs were all intact, no matter what his trecherous heart screamed to the contrary.

It went on for three days that way, and Sam let it, just like he let Dean's car carry him across hundreds of miles, until California was just a distant memory. Dean drove like Satan himself was after them and Sam was too tired to chastize him for speeding. His brother was a shining example of how not to drive: twenty miles over the speed limit and never watching the damn road because he was too busy watching his brother. After some consideration, Sam decided that Dean was actually the _worst_ example because nothing bad ever happened as a consequence of his driving. The only time someone made a good example of what not to do was by ending in tragedy.

Dean had already had so much tragedy in his life that it only seemed fair for him to get to drive recklessly with no consequence.

"Penny for your thoughts, Sammy?" Dean said into the quiet. Sam glanced over at him. His older brother was watching him intently, like Sam might disappear in a puff of purple smoke if he so much as blinked. Now that would be a real tragedy.

"Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket?" he asked.

Dean glanced back at the road for a split second, before returning his attention to his little brother, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Never."

Sam nodded to himself. He'd guessed as much.

~ * ~

The thing about it was, this thing with Dean, Sam had never really come to terms with it. He knew what it meant when you dreamt about your older brother pressing you down into a skeevy motel mattress, and it wasn't anything good.

So Sam had done the only thing he could do: he ran. Unfortunately, he'd inheirited another Winchester family trait in crippling guilt and self-doubt. He'd spent the first semester at Stanford with his finger hover perpetually over the "Call" button on his cell phone, waking up with his brother's name on his lips, and taking punishingly cold showers until he couldn't feel his skin anymore.

When his roommate had introduced him to Jess at the beginning of his second semester, Sam thought that he had found his salvation. She was beautiful and intelligent and so glaringly _normal._ They went to dinner and a movie for their first date and Jess kissed him goodnight at the entrance to her dorm afterwards. Sam had walked back to his own dorm, giddy with the possibilities. They'd gone out two more times before Jess had invited him up to her apartment and they'd made the official transition after that, introducing each other as "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" from then on.

It'd been perfect. And it had all gone up in flames three days ago.

~ * ~

"Did you know it can sometimes take up to five minutes for a person to burn to death?" Sam said loudly, "I looked it up. That's three hundred seconds."

They were in some podunk bar in the middle of nowhere, and Sam was three sheets to the wind, and feeling more talkative than he had in the last three days. Maybe more talkative than he'd _ever_ felt.

Dean looked at him, shock painted across his expression. "Sammy."

"There are even reports of it taking longer than that," Sam continued, scraping at the label on his bottle with his fingernails, "Sometimes it's closer to ten minutes."

"Jesus Christ, Sam," Dean whispered, "Why are you telling me this?"

Sam considered for a moment, and then shrugged. He felt kind of nauseous. "I think I'm drunk." he said.

"No kidding." Dean agreed, getting to his feet, "C'mon. Time to go home."

"A motel's not home, Dean. I had a home, I know." His brother swayed slightly, like he'd been punched, but he recovered quickly enough, getting a firm grip around Sam's elbow and hauling him to his feet. They stumbled out of the bar together and made their way across the parking lot to the car.

"Most people who die in fires die from smoke inha--inna...from breathing in smoke." Sam said conversationally when Dean released his grip on him long enough to unlock the doors. "Usually, they don't even wake up." he frowned, "Jessica was awake."

Dean sighed and shoved him into the passenger seat. "Get in the car."

Luckily, the motel was only a couple of blocks away, and before Sam had gotten completely comfortable in his seat, Dean was hauling him out again, and leading him to the door.

"I was in love with her though," Sam said as Dean dragged him inside, "Jess, I mean."

"I know, Sammy."

"But I never thought I would be," he continued. Dean prodded him towards the bed furthest from the door, and he took a couple of wavering steps in that direction, " 'Cause I was too in love with you, y'know?"

Dean froze. Three seconds too late, Sam realized what he'd just said. Strangely enough, he wasn't too freaked out about it. Maybe it was the alcohol talking. Or maybe he was just really sick of pretending.

"Yeah, well," Dean said with an unconvincing laugh, "That shows what you know, Sammy. Hero worship doesn't trump true love."

Sam snagged his brother's wrist with reflexes that were way too fast for someone with so much alcohol in his system. He suddenly felt dangerously sober. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Jess has only been gone three days and I still want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole life."

Dean's eyes glittered in the near-darkness of the motel. His pulse fluttered at triple speed under Sam's fingers and Sam realized, with a giddy sort of awareness, that Dean was terrified.

"Don't be stupid, Sam," he said, "You're drunk and grieving and you don't know what you're saying--"

Sam tightened his grip on Dean's wrist, feeling a weird sort of thrill as his brother's pulse jackhammered again. "Don't." he said, sharply, "Don't tell me what I feel. Ten years, Dean, I've felt this way. It's not going to just go away."

"Sammy," Dean whispered, "We can't do this. It's--" His voice caught.

"What, Dean, incest?" His brother flinched violently. "Is that the only thing stopping us?"

Dean stared at him, eyes wide. "Isn't that enough?"

"Dude, we desecrate graves for a living. Social taboos have never really bothered us before."

"Sammy, I thought you wanted to be normal," Dean pleaded, "This? This is not normal."

Sam shrugged. "I tried normal. I ran away from this and nothing good came out of it, and I'm right back where I started. Normal isn't an option." Dean didn't respond. For the first time in days, he wasn't staring at Sam, instead focusing on an interestingly-shaped stain on the threadbare carpet. "If you can look me in the eye and say it's because you don't feel the same way, I'll drop it and we can pretend I never said anything," Sam promised, "But if the only reason you can give me is _we shouldn't..."_

Dean looked up. "I wanted you to have a chance at normal, Sammy. I didn't want you to be fucked up like me."

"There are a lot of things that are fucked up about our lives," Sam agreed, "But this is not one of them." And he grabbed the front of Dean's jacket and yanked him forward into a kiss.

For a long moment, Dean didn't respond, lips pliant, but unmoving against Sam's. But just as Sam started to pull away, terrified that he'd ruined everything, Dean trembled and tilted his face up towards his brother's. His hands came up to cradle Sam's face and he groaned into Sam's mouth, tasting of Mountain Dew and something distinctly Dean.

Sam could've cried in relief, but he thought it might spoil the mood, so instead he busied himself with licking his way into Dean's mouth, marveling at the soft sounds he was elicting from his brother. He was so engrossed in kissing Dean that he didn't even realize he was being steered towards the bed until the back of his legs hit the mattress and he went down, tugging Dean with him.

Dean let out a breathless sort of laugh and started mouthing along Sam's jawline, hands rucking up his shirt to map out his hips and ribs. He slid a knee between Sam's legs and Sam gasped and bucked against him, instinctively seeking friction.

"Sammy," Dean groaned, eyes fluttering shut, "God, you're so..."

Sam grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back down, cutting off his babbling with another forceful kiss. He slotted their hips together and arched against his brother. Dean honest-to-God whimpered into his mouth, and Sam lost it then and there, spiraling over the edge, gasping his brother's name and Dean was right behind him, shuddering and gripping Sam's arms hard enough to leave bruises.

They stayed like that for a few moments, both still mostly clothed--like fucking teenagers, Sam thought--Dean sprawled on top of Sam, waiting for their heartbeats to regulate again and trying to catch their breath. Dean leaned up and pressed a tender kiss to his brother's throat and Sam thought his heart might burst from the feeling behind it.

He manouvered Dean around until they were both laying on their sides, facing one another.

"I love you." he said, seriously. Dean rolled his eyes and gave him a half-grin, but Sam could see the truth in how his eyes lit up.

"I know." Dean said, in his best Harrison Ford impression. Sam punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Jerk, I just bared my soul to you and you quote Star Wars at me?"

"Mmm." Dean agreed sleepily. "You love me." He scooted in closer and pressed his nose into Sam's pulse point in what he would later insist was _not_ cuddling, but that Sam would cite as Dean's inner girl coming out.

"Yeah," Sam whispered, smiling, "I really do."


End file.
